


A Dangerous Attraction

by KysisTheBard



Series: The Dance [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KysisTheBard/pseuds/KysisTheBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other side of "Strange Bedfellows". When Loki makes a last moment escape from a losing battle, he does not expect to be taken to Tony Stark's penthouse, much less to his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of people weren’t happy with where I ended “Strange Bedfellows”, so, uh… this one is from Loki’s POV.

His feet touched firm ground, the sudden weight, the sudden gravity, throwing him off balance. He staggered, catching himself before he could fall. His heart thundered in his chest, breaths ragged, short. The signs of battle still clung to him like a second skin, small bruises and cuts marring his moon pale skin, just as small of tears littering his armor.

The place he had teleported to was not in the heart of a losing fight, but at the same time, did not feel entirely safe. Loki straightened, forcing himself to take deeper breaths, to relax. He needed to assess his current situation, and quickly.

“Uhh…”

Loki looked up, tensing, magic coiling dangerous green snakes around his fingers. He knew that voice. He sought it out with his eyes, finding none other than Anthony Stark, the metal man, slouching against a fully stocked bar.

“Can I help you?”

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. His heart fluttered again, beating a wounded warsong in his chest. Loki took a step away, knee wobbling. He barely righted himself.

Fatigue hung from his shoulders like a heavy cloak. Just standing was an effort. The metal man was without his suit, but Loki was certain there would be one nearby, or that the man would be wearing his confounded bracelets again, which called the suit to him.

Stark took another swig of his drink, something rich and amber, sparkling with ice. Loki frowned. The last encounter they had involved alcohol, the last two in fact, the first where he tossed the human from his own window, the second when his friends, Avengers, whatever they called themselves, had come to round him up.

Loki eyed the glass for a moment, then turned his head. The man was hardly a threat to him. If he had wanted, he already could have attacked or raised some form of alarm. For all intensive purposes, this place was a sanctuary, more of a sanctuary than his previous situation had been, so it would have to do.

Gathering all his reserve, Loki walked stiffly for the other side of the room. It was luxuriously furnished, though nowhere near the level of Asgard. Just thinking that name made bile gather at the back of his throat. Loki swallowed against it, continuing to walk, crossing to the large bed as though he owned the place.

Staggering, Loki caught himself on the edge of the bed. It was soft, the cushion of it rising around his knees, cupping each of his slender fingers. Loki pressed down, the material giving further, supporting him. He lifted his hand, then pressed down again, only for the same result.

This would definitely do.

Crawling up, he collapsed, falling into a fitful slumber of exhaustion.

0 0 0 0 0

Loki’s eyes opened to a room drowned in darkness, and to the feeling of fingers gently exploring him. He frowned, not turning , because having his back to the human seemed to be the best shield at the moment.

At some point in the night, he had decided all those leathers were entirely too warm. With a flick of his wrist, he’d stripped of them, the pieces all stacked neatly at the side of the bed. Frankly, he was much more comfortable without the armor, not that he would admit it aloud. He only wore a thin, spun tunic which he had under all that armor and his leather pants, which hugged a little uncomfortably with the sweat, but he wore nothing else underneath them, so they would have to do.

All the more so since it seemed Anthony Stark, the metal man, had crawled into bed with him like this was perfectly natural, and had been groping him for at least the amount of time these mortals considered to be an hour.

He should just leave. Loki flexed his hand, concentrating. He had recovered enough strength to mend his wounds, not that it had taken much, due to their superficiality, but opening a small portal, even one which had its other side in this world, was currently beyond him.

That hand found the hem of his tunic, sliding up under it, fluttering up the side of his thigh, brushing his hip bone, before ghosting under his abdomen. It was almost reverent.

Loki rolled on his back, turning his head.

Stark looked to be asleep, eyes closed, breathing even, chest rising and falling with each breath. The light in the room changed slightly with each breath. Loki let his gaze fall, tracing that obnoxious goatee, the strong line of his neck, that chest. There it was, the source of light, a bright blue and luminous thing actually in the man’s chest.

That was where his staff had touched, that was what had made that sound. Loki had been told that anyone with a heart could be controlled with that staff, that it would take their heart, the things they cared about, hold all those things hostage, take over the mind using them.

It would seem Stark did not have a heart.

Those fingers ghosted down his abdomen, Loki tilting his head back into the plush pillow.

If he could not leave quite yet, he might as well cause some mischief.

Loki snapped his fingers, the rest of his clothing joining the armor. That hand continued down, feeling like fire on his cool skin. When it touched him, he could not help it, the air thrust from his lungs, each subsequent inhale faster, hitched.

He was going to regret this at some point. He might as well make it worth regretting.

“Jarvis—”

Loki rolled, quickly pressing a finger to the man’s lips. They were just as warm as his hands, though those fingers were calloused, where those lips were soft, softer even than this Midgardian bed.

The man’s dark eyes widened, staring straight at him now in the cool glow of whatever that was in his chest. It almost looked magic. Loki couldn’t help but smile softly at that thought. Midgardians and magic. He was stalling. The metal man’s hand was still on him, but unmoving as though he was paralyzed.

If he moved closer, he would be crossing the proverbial line in the sand. He would not be able to go across it again.

So be it.

Loki planted one knee next to Stark, swinging himself up gracefully like he was mounting a horse for battle. Stark kept looking around with wide eyes, like he was searching for something, probably a weapon or some way to defend himself, not that it would do any good. Nude or not, Loki was still in the position of power. The frown Stark wore hinted that he knew this, and wasn’t the least bit comfortable with it.

All the better.

“What are you—”

“I believe you are the one who started this.” Loki purred the words, a predatory smile arcing his lips. He reached out, trailing the backs of his fingers down Stark’s cheek, shifting to the pads as he traced the thrumming line of a major artery on the man’s neck. It was so exposed, so vulnerable. With a simple press, he could rupture it and kill the man.

That was not his intention, though, as much as it would please him. No, he let his fingers glide down, circling that cool glowing light in Stark’s chest. It hummed with an unfamiliar power, no doubt the absolute pinnacle of Midgardian science. It was strangely beautiful. A brilliant mind must have crafted it.

“Really?”

“You have not been able to keep your hands off me the entire night.” The looped the device again, the flesh around it warm and tender. Finally, he let his fingers touch the thing itself. The top was smooth, no doubt sealed. The power it emitted was absolutely fascinating. If it was not for the bulge he could feel beneath him, he might stop to ask about it, about what it did, why it was there.

He had so many questions, but it seemed like Stark wasn’t happy about any of this.

“Yeah, about that, I didn’t mean—”

Loki leaned, catching those lips with his own. They were larger than his and so warm, so soft, so pliable. Loki spread them easily with his own lips, silver tongue snaking in, exploring. That mouth was somewhat sweet, and yet, there was something else, almost like the stronger Asgardian brews, tainting every bit of it.

Both his hands found the device, cupping the edges. He twisted.

Stark gasped, shoving upward. Loki broke their kiss, though not by the mortal’s force, dropping the device back into its slot and pinning those arms roughly in what must have seemed a blur of movement.

“Jarvis—”

Loki pushed their lips together again, effectively swallowing whatever Stark was going to say. He did not deepen this one, though, pulling away only a breath. “I thought you enjoyed danger.”

“I also enjoy living.”

He chuckled, running his hands up Stark’s arms, over his pectoral muscles, back to that glowing light. “Just a little fun.” He ran his fingers over the device, rimming it. He could feel the mortal tremble beneath him. “And it would be no fun if I killed you.”

“Is that your definition of kinky?”

A growl rumbled from the back of his throat. He was not sure what ‘kinky’ meant to this mortal, but he was certain the word had a sexual connotation. It had better, at least, because that was exactly what Loki was intending.

The thought of claiming this man in bed, the thought of his other teammates finding out, was absolutely too delicious to pass up.

Loki lifted the device carefully again, motions slow, calculated. He pushed it back in, then up again, staring at Stark the whole time. It was more than an insinuation at this point. It was a promise.

The man laughed, that smile Loki recognized by now lighting up his features. It was the smile Stark seemed to get when he was courting danger. And wasn’t he now. Danger was courting him just as fiercely.

They crashed together, lips meshing like fire and ice, hands roaming freely, sculpting muscle, nails biting. Strong arms wrapped around him, dragging him closer, then his back was on the mattress, Stark’s weight firmly between his hips.

Loki growled, Stark pressing harder, biting his lip. He arched into it, gasping at the sharpness, laughter stopped when the man thrust his tongue in his mouth. Loki threaded his fingers through the man’s hair, pulling him back just as sharply. Stark moaned, the sound sending thrills down his spine.

“You will me mine and mine alone.” Loki breathed the words against Stark’s lips, and the man grinned in return.

“I’m not the exclusive type.” He laughed again, grinding roughly against him. “Doesn’t go with the playboy ground.”

“Oh, but you will not want for anyone else after me.” Loki rolled his hands down that back, rippling with muscles no doubt built from using that metal suit. He slid his hands beneath the waistband of Stark’s pants, pushing them down.

Stark kicked his pants off, sending them sailing into the darkness.

“Challenge accepted.”

He pressed down, erection so hard yet silken as it rubbed his inner thigh, dragging against the sensitive skin. Loki tensed.

Stark paused, looking down at him, those big brown eyes searching.

That was all Loki needed.

He flipped them again, Stark landing with a grunt. Loki grabbed both his wrists, pressing them down with enough force to bruise. He kicked the metal man’s legs apart roughly, pushing himself between them, sliding between the cleft of his buttocks.

Stark shivered. The surprise was luscious.

“You think I would let a mere mortal inside of me?”

“It was worth a shot.”

Always the cheeky response. Loki nipped at those lips, daring them to remain silent, though it did not seem likely. Stark was the only one of the so-called Avengers who dared spar with him verbally. It would be absolutely delicious conquering him.

Loki readjusted his grip, shifting Stark’s wrists over his head, pinned with just one hand. It was strong enough to keep a human down without much concentration, Loki smirking as his other hand fell back to the device again.

He lifted it out, cords dangling from the end of it into the metal cavity in Stark’s chest. Fear filled Stark’s face, a cold sweat blossoming on his cheeks, on his chest, like dewdrops. With a yank, Loki could disconnect it, leave Stark stripped bare on his bed for his teammates to find, dead the next day.

That was not the game he was playing, though. He wanted to unmake him, not kill him. Death would be too easy. Loki had always loved a good challenge.

Loki smoothed his fingers down the side of the device, gaze never leaving Stark’s. He kissed the glowing top of it, lips lingering. It tasted like life itself. Loki’s fingers cupped the bottom, around the wires, skin quickly coated with the cold, slick substance clinging to it.

His smirk only grew as he put the device back in its spot, Stark’s sigh of relief making it spread further. Loki brought his hand down, palming himself with the substance, slicking himself. Kissing Stark’s slack lips again, Loki plunged too fingers in.

The pained gasp pushed into his mouth, Loki pushing back with his tongue again, massaging his fingers in. He would not even be preparing the mortal if it wasn’t for that fact that a scream might alert others in the building. Loki wanted him to scream, but in a way that made others blush and quickly walk the other way.

Stark bucked against his fingers, inviting him deeper, harder. Loki pulled his fingers out, fighting against a laugh as the man let out what could only be interpreted as a whine. He wanted more? Loki would gladly give it.

He slammed in, giving no moment for acclimation, and the seething burn of it, the tightness, was entirely worth it. Stark shuddered beneath him, another whine, tinged with a mixture of pain and pleasure, was like music to his ears.

“Am I your first man?”

Stark pulled him into another desperate kiss, supplying answer enough. Loki thrust again, just as rough, building a rhythm, Stark writhing under him, lifting onto him. Loki stifled a moan into Stark’s shoulder, biting hard. The panted cry he received only made him latch on harder, sucking into the flesh was purple and mottled and his.

The mortal spilled first, a hot spray coating their abdomens, mingling with the gloss of perspiration they had worked up. Stark sagged into the bed. Loki released his hands, grabbing his jaw roughly, pulling their faces together.

“I am not done with you yet.”

Stark groaned, Loki thrusting harder in reply, snarling. The metal man tried bringing his legs up, feebly trying to wrap them around Loki’s lithe waist. His legs fell down again, limp, boneless. Loki grabbed them, pulling them up around him, maintaining his feverish rhythm, relentlessly slamming into him.

He could keep at this all night, if he really wanted.

That idea brought his hand back to Stark’s flaccid member. He wrapped his fingers around it, pumping, trying to bring it back to life.

Tonight, he would absolutely drain Stark. If he could even walk in the morning, it would be by the grace of a miracle and nothing less.


End file.
